


Feels Are Weird, Just Blow Shit Up Instead

by anarchycox



Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [8]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Best Friends, But they get better, Feral Ciri, First Crush, Gen, Gentle feels, Lambert POV, Lambert cares so damn much, Sick Character, blowing shit up is fun, he is just clueless, minor background relationships very brief, platonic kiss, running cannibalism joke, soft fic, there is no actual cannibalism in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:09:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25173661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Lambert doesn't get why no one understands how to cope with Ciri upon her arrival at Kaer Morhen. It is easy. Just you know blow shit up and don't treat her like a princess. It takes him years to see the giant crush she has on him, because he was the first person to truly see her.Years of scenes in the ultimate brotp for life:Lambert and Ciri
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Lambert
Series: Witcher Bingo Card Prompts [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1746034
Comments: 147
Kudos: 482
Collections: I made fanart for these at some point :), Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development





	Feels Are Weird, Just Blow Shit Up Instead

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Unexpected Consequences on my Witcher Bingo card.
> 
> Also there is a brief reference to Lambert once in true desperation engaging in light cannibalism and then Ciri teases him about it so much it is a running joke for them. No actual eating people in the story.

Fuck, she cried loud. Or maybe it wasn’t that loud for most twelve year old girls. What the fuck did he know about twelve year old girls? But her room shared a wall with his and the sobs were making him feel stabby. Lambert cursed and stood up. He went and banged on Geralt’s door. “She’s crying again, deal with it.”

Geralt looked at him, and fuck the idiot looked heartbroken. “I tried. She wants to be left alone, and I have to respect her wishes. As her whatever I am.”

Save him. Lambert left Geralt and went back to his room and put a pillow over his head. And the crying didn’t fucking stop.

Enough of this shit. Lambert went and knocked on her door. 

“Leave me alone, Geralt.”

“Not fucking Geralt, and since you won’t leave me alone, I won’t fucking leave you alone. Get the fuck up if you are going to make that much noise.”

“Go away, I’m fine.”

“No, you fucking aren’t, now come on.” Lambert turned the door handle, and was shocked when it opened. “Melitele, what is wrong with you, why wasn’t this locked?”

“I wasn’t sure if I was allowed,” she said. “And servants need to be able to go in and out and -”

“Servants, what fucking servants?” Lambert snorted. “Or is that why you are crying, because no servants to wipe your ass?”

“I am not crying!”

Lambert sighed. Great, she was as much of a stubborn idiot as Geralt. And he had to deal with all this shit, because Vesemir the bastard was smart enough to live at the other end of the keep, and Eskel wasn’t home yet. So, fine, he’d deal with it, since he was the only one with a brain in the whole fucking keep. He went over and picked up the princess, and fuck she was too light. Luckily, his fix everything plan involved food. 

“What are you doing?”

“Shut up unless you want to wake up Geralt,” Lambert snapped. “And then he’ll give that stupid face he is doing right now where he is all like feeling shit over you. Moping, that’s the word. He’s moping over you, and it makes him look like he stared at a basilisk.” Lambert had her over his shoulder. She was stupid skinny and might get cold, so he tossed a fur over her as well. He then headed to the kitchens. The fire was low but still going and he prodded it a bit, then dumped her on the kitchen table.

“Are you going to carve me up and make me into stew?”

“What no,” Lambert looked back at her. “Humans taste like shit. Just no texture to the meat.” He poked through the cupboards and chests, looking for the good stuff. He eventually found the honey and spices he was looking for, there was some goat milk in a pot, and he began to put everything together. The princess had stopped crying. “What?”

“You’ve actually eaten people?”

“No, I’ve eaten one person,” Lambert said, “In extremely desperate situations, and not even a whole person. Just a bit so I didn’t die in that fucking cave in. Didn’t murder them for it. Survival ain’t pretty princess. But it beats the alternative.”

“I know that,” she whispered and this time when she started crying, the tears were silent, tracked down her face slowly. He finished making the warm drink and pressed it into her hand, with the biscuits he had found. He sat on the table across from her. His milk and honey also had some mead in it. 

“Dip a biscuit in,” he suggested. He did that with his. “So, you gotta stop this crying shit. It is keeping me up at night.” That should take care of it.

He ate his biscuit, and she just held the mug and kept crying.

For fuck’s sake.

He lifted the mug to her lips. “Will you just drink it? You don’t waste pantry raid foods and drinks.” He saw her take a few sips and a small bit of the tension left her shoulders. “Geralt’s been telling you it will be fine, and all that shit right?” She gave a small nod, and he nudged the cup to her lips again. “So here is the deal. Not going to be fine ever again. Your life is going to fucking suck forever. Because you are one of us now, and it is all complete bullshit.”

“What?”

Lambert just shrugged. “Well, you were a princess, now you are here. Everyone is dead or at war, except us, who have no fucking clue what to do with a baby.”

“I’m twelve.”

“I’m seventy.”

“You don’t look a day over sixty five.”

Lambert grinned. “Good, better than crying like a baby over shit that you can’t change.”

“My grandmother is dead, Cintra is fallen.”

“Meh, she was a bitch, and it wasn’t that great a city.”

“How dare you?” she shouted and flung the milk which had thankfully cooled in his face. He could immediately see the horror settling into her expression, and he grabbed her fur and cleaned himself off. “I’m sorry. Don’t tell Geralt?”

“Why would I?” Lambert shrugged and gave her his mug. It didn’t have that much mead in it and she was raised in part by someone from Skellige, she was probably used to some hooch. The way she coughed though, he guessed not. “Here’s what I figure, poppet. Crying just hurts your stomach in the end. And it changes fuck all. So you can stay night and night in your room crying, and keeping me fucking awake. Or you can spend your days learning. To fight, to blow shit up. Channel it into anger.”

“Is that what you do?”

“Yup, and I turned out great.”

“You ate someone.”

“I turned out great,” Lambert said. “Look I’ve been sad, I’ve been hurt. Anger at least keeps you going, sad just will kill you. You sad, you stop. Anger? Well, there is always someone to be angry at, to keep your feet moving so you can confront them.”

“Who are you angry at, to keep you going?”

Lambert shrugged, “Vesemir a lot of the time, some bastard who didn’t pay me. The keep itself. Whatever it takes.” She drank a little more of his milk and coughed some more, and he took it away from her. “Fine, no mead until you are 7.” He nudged the biscuits towards her fingers.

“I’m twelve.”

“Yeah, I won’t remember that. You done with the bullshit now?” Ciri nodded and he cleaned up the kitchens. “Come on then,” he said. She stood and stumbled, tired, and fuck maybe a little tipsy. That was on him. He picked her up gently this time and took her to her room. “Start crying again and I’ll gag you.”

“I won’t. I’m going to be angry. At Nilfgaard.”

“Good target,” he agreed. “You can be angry at your grandmother, or Geralt too, because they were also idiots.” She laughed a little and he was relieved. She sounded really done with it all. He’d finally get some sleep. “Night, poppet. Tell Geralt I was nice to you, and I’ll kill you.”

“Will you eat me?”

Lambert snorted. “With how stringy you are, maybe use your bones for torches at most.” She giggled at that. “Finally, someone with a decent sense of humour in this place.” Lambert went back to his room and flopped on his bed. He couldn’t hear crying and fell asleep.

*

Lambert was working at his bench and could hear Geralt and Ciri arguing over her weapons training, and it was annoying. They butted heads so much, because they were exactly alike and it kept interrupting his measuring. It needed to be exact. “Shut the fuck up, you two,” he roared at them. “Geralt, she’s right, you do hold your sword like an idiot. The backwards hold is extra motion and causes problems.” She looked so smug, and well that wouldn’t do. “And he’s right that you aren’t giving it your all.” They were blessedly quiet for a moment and he finished measuring the ash for the mini smoke bombs he was working on. He cleaned up and nodded. “I have to go break up the ice. Princess, wanna blow shit up?”

“Yes,” she agreed quickly. She put the sword away and ran up to him. “Let’s go.”

Lambert took her down to the lake that fed water into the keep. “So it freezes over, because of course it does, and generally that is fine, because where it feeds into the keep is below enough that that is fine.”

“So, why do you have to blow it up?”

“Because I want fresh fish for dinner.”

“Huh?” 

“Also good throwing practice.” He lit a bomb and handed it to her. “I’d throw that if I were you. Have about ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven -” He laughed when she threw it. “Piss poor -” It exploded and sent some ice flying. He shielded her face from a couple small shards that came their way. “Throw. Start hauling buckets of water. Over your shoulders. Get good arms.” He went to a chest and pulled out a couple fishing rods, some dried bait. “Come on then.” He walked out on the ice.

“Won’t you fall in?”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But you are so scrawny and baby that you’ll be fine. You know how to fish?”

“No,” she admitted.

“Fuck, why did Calanthe make you completely useless?”

“She didn’t -”

“Met her a couple times, droned on and on about how men treated women, which I mean fair lots of men are bastards, but with all her prattle, that she made you useless is a bit of a surprise.” Lambert was mulling this.

“Are you a bastard?”

“Yup, but to everyone. So it is fine.”

“It probably isn’t.” Ciri baited a hook and cast it in the hole she had blown into the ice.

“Oh, Calanthe wanted you useless so she could always control you. She had control issues. Thing we have in common, poppet. Shitty parenting.” He cast his line as well and they stood there on the ice. 

“I love Grandmother.”

“Sure, I have feelings somewhat positive occasionally about Vesemir.”

“She…thinking about her hurts and it is all a jumble.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know that feeling. Mostly I push it away and when it gets overwhelming I go find a monster to kill, so I don’t punch Vesemir in the face.”

“Is that healthy?”

“We’re witchers, poppet, fuck all is healthy about us. But at least I know I have feelings versus your da. Broody pants git.” Ciri giggled and it was a cute sound. Better than the crying. “You have something on your line.” Lambert went over and wrapped his arms around her and helped her pull it up. “Not bad, poppet.”

“Thanks.”

“Any fish you catch, you have to clean you know.”

“How gross is it?”

“Not too bad,” he promised her. It wasn’t shitty being out on the ice with her fishing and when they had enough for the keep, he showed her how to clean them, leaving the offal in the woods for animals to enjoy. They went back into the keep and he made stew. She lingered with him, and he didn’t mind, he guessed; he could understand her avoiding Geralt. 

At dinner Geralt praised her fishing, and asked if she was interested in learning to hunt and she readily agreed. Fuck, he hoped that went better than sword training was.

*

“Lambert, I made you a thing?”

“Is it a bomb?”

“No.”

“Decoction?”

“Not allowed to make those yet.”

“Food?”

“No.”

“Then it can wait,” he said as he mended his armor. He looked up and she was crestfallen. “Fucking hell, help me finish this and then you give whatever it is to me.” He handing her some cured leather. “Ready to learn how to shape a pauldron?” They worked together and she had clever fingers, and he grunted in satisfaction at the work. “Right then, what did you make me?”

She pulled a piece of antler out of her pocket. Carved and smoothed well. “I killed my first deer. And made this for you.”

He had no clue what it was. “Thanks, poppet. It is great.” He moved it about in his hands. “Really well done.”

“You have no clue what it is, huh?”

“Not a fucking one,” Lambert agreed. He kept turning it over. “Is it a fish?”

“It’s a wolf,” she said and huffed. “So my bone carving needs a bit of work.”

“Where are the damn legs?”

“There.”

“Huh, that looks more like a cock.”

“Gross.”

Lambert nodded. “You keep thinking that.” He carefully put it in a pocket. “Thanks, it sucks, but it is neat that you made it for me.”

Ciri laughed a bit. “What else can I help you with?”

“You avoiding Vesemir, Eskel, or Geralt?” He had figured it out, they were all so soft around her, babied her. Treated her like a damn princess, that sometimes she just needed a break and came to him. 

“All of them. They want me to learn maths.” She made a face and it was one he generally agreed with. Maths on the page were boring. Maths in the field though, were something else.

“I know how to make maths interesting.”

“Does it involve blowing shit up?”

“Of course it does.”

“Let’s do it.”

*

“You look especially pissy today,” Lambert said as he ran into Ciri in the laundry room. She had been avoiding everyone for a couple days, and Geralt was fretting about it. “I’m on laundry duty, Geralt has been very clear that you don’t do laundry because it is too smelly for you.”

“I should learn. I can take care of my own. Go away.”

“No, I have to do laundry or Eskel will be running around without smalls and I don’t want to see his ass.” There were cauldrons and he filled one up with water and soap wort. “Why do you have that ragged old sheet, barely good for cutting for rags and you smell like blood and ohhhhh I get it.”

“No you don’t,” Ciri growled at him.

“I don’t care. I wash bloody stuff all the time. Who cares if it is from a shoulder or a crotch?” Lambert just shrugged. “Also that sheet won’t really be great for cutting up for rags for that. Had an interesting talk with a whore once. Want thicker fabric, absorbs more. Like the padded stuff those idiot knights in Redania wear under their armor.” Lambert sighed, “I swear being your friend is so much work. I’ll make you some pieces that you can bleed on.” Lambert froze as she ran and hugged him. “This seems like a large reaction for not being a dick about some cunt blood.”

“Geralt said you aren’t supposed to say cunt around me. It is unseemly.”

“Tell me which sounds more unseemly from me: vagina or cunt?” 

“Never say vagina again.”

“Exactly,” Lambert agreed. “Now, you got any laundry you need throwing in?” She gestured and there was her small basket. He added it to the big pot and started stirring. “Go on then. I’ll drop off what you need later today.”

“Thank you.” Ciri started to head out, and paused at the door. “Lambert, some people say when you start your courses that makes you a woman.”

“Yeah, no, you are still a stupid baby.”

“How old would I have to be, to be considered a woman?”

“Huh,” Lambert stirred the cauldron and thought about it. “In Cintra that was sixteen, but most sixteen year olds are still idiots. I guess…eighteen? That sounds like a reasonable age. Maybe nineteen?” 

“I can wait that long.”

“Of course you fucking can, poppet.” Lambert thought of her growing up and was horrified. She was a goddamn baby, and no one was allowed to touch her. He finished the laundry and hung it all up to dry. He went to his sewing pile and made her what he thought would work and dropped it off at her door. He thought of explaining to Geralt why she had been all weird the last couple of days, but if the idiot couldn’t figure it out, that was on him.

*

“Lambert?”

“Yeah? What? I didn’t do it,” Lambert said quickly, even though he had barely begun cleaning the kitchen from his and Ciri’s latest midnight raid. “Fuck you, it is everyone’s space.”

“Be kind.”

That wasn’t quite what he expected Vesemir to say. “Huh?”

“Lambert, be gentle and kind,” Vesemir was giving him a look, that was a bit different than the usual disappointment or frustration. “She is more fragile than you realize.”

Ah, that it explained it. “She is stronger than you idiots realize.” He kept cleaning up the kitchen, because he didn’t like mice. “You baby her so much. What the fuck is that about? Us, we sassed we got whipped. She sasses she gets a pat on the head.”

“Yet you don’t resent her.”

“Nah, that’s on you not her.”

“Be kind, and do a better job wiping down that table.”

That was the Vesemir he knew. Lambert did a piss poor job to annoy the man, but an hour later went back to fix it because it would drive him crazy. A few nights later he couldn’t sleep and while walking the ramparts saw the sky. “Shit,” he whispered and ran for Ciri’s room. He barely knocked and flung it open. “What have I told you about locking it?” he hissed.

“You are the only one who barges in, and I never mind,” she yawned. “Pantry raid.”

“No better, come on. Oh fuck it, you’ll move too slow.” He went and scooped her up, grabbed her fur as he went. He hurried back out and climbed ladders with her still on his shoulder. “Thank fuck, your slow ass didn’t make us miss it.”

“Miss what?” she smacked him, and it didn’t even register. 

Lambert sat carefully on the roof and pulled her into his lap. She smelled happy, and embarrassed but he didn’t really register it, just tilted her head up. “The sky is falling,” he told her. Not really, it was just a meteor shower, but it looked fucking awesome. Lambert held her as they both watched the shapes streak across the sky. “When Vesemir took me, there was a meteor shower. They are a thing in my life. Never figured out if it was a good thing or a bad thing. Meteor shower, the night of the attack on the keep. When I became the last witcher.”

“You aren’t the last witcher,” she said. She leaned into his shoulder and he steadied her. “I’m here now. You have me.”

“Thanks, poppet.” Lambert dropped a kiss on her head. “But bit different.” 

“I like when the sky moves. It seems so fixed, so certain, but nothing is certain is it?”

“A couple things are,” he decided after a moment.

“Like what?”

“That uncooked rabbit meat will make you insane, that blowing up shit is fun, that Geralt would tear the heavens apart to keep you safe.”

“Would you do that for me?” 

Lambert snorted a bit. “Fuck no, you got it covered, I’ll have a snack and watch you destroy everything. More fun.” He looked up at the sky. “Life is shit poppet, make no mistake about that. People are assholes, everything hurts, and sometimes -”

“You have to eat people?”

“Will you ever forget about that?” Lambert bopped her nose. 

“No, never,” she swore.

“What I was going to say was, we both ended up here for shit reasons, and being here will fuck you up hard. But being here with you, suppose it sucks a little bit less.” The meteors seemed to stop. “You don’t suck, Ciri.”

“I like when you call me poppet, a thing just for us. Can you stick with that?”

“In private, yeah, a thing just for best friends. But if you call me Bert, I will strangle you with your own intestines.”

“If you every call me Cirilla, I’ll gouge out your eyes and stuff your tiny balls in the sockets.”

“If you call me Lamb, I’ll make you wash Geralt’s underwear.”

“If you call me princess, I’ll sing.”

Lambert snorted, “You can’t be that bad, princess,” he teased. She sang a bit of toss a coin and he covered her mouth. “Holy fucking Melitele’s tits, you sound like a strangled goose.” He started to nudge her off his lap. “You need sleep.”

“Just a few more minutes?”

“Sure, poppet,” Lambert said, and tucked her close because she was still pretty scrawny even with all his work to feed her. But she couldn’t keep her eyes open and he carried her gently back down to bed and tucked her in. She was a pretty great kid.

*

Lambert double checked his bags and nodded to himself. He had everything he needed. When he headed out in the spring, he never bothered saying goodbye to anyone, because fuck them. He was just out of the keep when he heard running, recognizing the steps and stopping. He turned and caught Ciri. “What’s up, poppet?”

“You didn’t say goodbye.”

“Why would I?”

“Because,” she said. “It’s me.” 

“Fair.” Lambert hugged her. “Have fun traveling with Geralt. He forgets to wash his balls, it gets gross.”

“You’ll be back next winter right?”

“Always am.”

“No, you’ll stay alive, for me right? I know that the path is dangerous, and I don’t want you to die.”

“I won’t die,” he promised her. “But you promise me, that you don’t get tired of Geralt and run away.”

“He isn’t so bad,” she muttered. “You’re better.”

“Of course I am, best friends are always more interesting than dads.” He kissed her head. “See you in the winter.”

“No dying. Eat more people if you have to.”

“One time, one nibble! In very dire circumstances.” He spun her around. “See you in a few months, poppet.”

“Bye, Lambert.”

Lambert gave her a last squeeze and headed on the path. It was as shitty as it often was, and people were bastards, but sometimes he found something that he thought Ciri would find neat and bought or kept it. A raven feather, a pebble, a sweet little dagger, and these adorable little knuckle dusters for her weirdly tiny hands. By winter he had a half dozen things for her. He hurried a bit as he saw the keep in the distance, first time he had ever been eager to be back. He checked the stables and there was Geralt’s horse. He didn’t run through the keep, because that would be stupid but went to his room and stowed his gear. He pulled the box out of his bag, another thing that he had thought she would like, and then knocked on her door. “Oi, you in one piece?”

The door was flung open and he stared. “You grew a bit!” She was looking good. Bit taller, less scrawny. “Here, I found shit that made me think of you.”

Lambert wondered why she turned bright red. “Thank you, Lambert,” she squeaked. “I started to grow tits.”

“Yeah, can see that. They as annoying as I always figured they would be?” Lambert liked touching them on women, but he sorted of figured they were a pain in the ass to haul around.

Ciri poked at them a bit. “Still small. They get huge I am cutting them off. Did you know there used to be warriors who would cut one off to make firing a bow easier?”

“No shit,” Lambert was kinda impressed. “Tell me about it when we pantry raid.”

“Can I have mead in my milk?”

“No, you are a baby.”

“Thirteen now, getting closer to eighteen.”

He snorted. “Baby. No mead.”

But of course there was a small bit added to her milk as they sat on the table in the kitchen and spoke of their travels. He exaggerated a bit about what he had killed because it had actually been a pretty boring year on the path, steady work but nothing too interesting. And she was full of tales and excited to tell him about stuff and he happily listened as they ate biscuits but then she grew sad. “What’s up, poppet? Unwashed Geralt smell as bad as I warned you?”

“Yes, but I got used to it. Like how he got used to helping with laundry with cunt blood on it.” She perked up a bit for a moment, “He says I sound too much like you.”

“Well you have good taste, better to sound like me than him, with that stupid grunty growl of his.”

“He was sad. We were on the path but he kept looking for someone and we never found them.”

“Yennefer?” Geralt was obsessed with the sorceress.

Ciri shook her head. “No we found her, spent a month with her. Learned a lot about magic. And about how sex sounds. Which is gross.”

“Yeah, he grunts a lot, and feel like Yen would be a screamer. I know how to make these things, fit in your ears so you don’t hear a damn thing.” He stole the last biscuit from her. “But they fought and parted ways and he was all grumpy?”

“No, I think it was about a song or something? A bard?” Ciri looked, “mouse,” she called and Lambert turned because no damn mice in his kitchen, and felt his drink snatched out of his hand. 

“Nicely done,” he said and took it back because she did not need that much mead. “But bard. Shit, he was looking for Jaskier huh?”

“I guess. He just would hear some songs in taverns and be so morose. And he wouldn’t talk about it.”

“He knows like 10 words.”

“It made me sad that he was sad,” Ciri said. 

Lambert didn’t like Ciri being sad. “Next spring,” he said. “Always next spring. Now help me clean up so Vesemir doesn’t know.”

The winter passed easily, him blowing shit up with Ciri, teaching her things, and regular pantry raids and when spring came about, when she hugged him and begged him to stay alive, there was a wet kiss to his cheek as well. Lambert kissed the top of her head and promised to stay alive and see her next winter. He took a nasty job in a town he didn’t even remember the name of and he now had a scar on his face. He supposed it gave him a roguish air. He was drinking an ale and heard that stupid toss a coin song. He looked at the bard and gestured to him.

At the end of the set, the bard came over. “Yes, my good witcher?”

“You Jaskier?” Lambert looked at him. He didn’t seem like much but hell, Geralt always had weird taste. 

“I am, my fame precedes me, I see. Do you have a request?”

“Yeah, you are coming with me.”

“Umm…” Jaskier started to back away.

“Nope, sorry. You are kidnapped. Being without you is making Geralt sad. Now I don’t actually give a shit about that, because the man chooses to mope over lost dick that’s on him. But him being sad is making my girl sad, and I have issues with that. So I am collecting you and giving you to Geralt, because then everyone who matters will be happy.”

“Geralt has missed me?” Jaskier paused, and fuck Lambert could smell the sadness and the hope on him.

“I guess, don’t know why, but there we are. So you got a room here?” Lambert followed him upstairs and crashed on the bed. “Wonderful, I’m going to pass out now. Wake me when they seem ready to kick us out.” Lambert slept for thirteen hours and then they headed out.

Fuck, he wanted to murder the bard a half dozen times, but Ciri wanted Geralt to be happy, and Lambert wanted his best friend to be happy, so he traveled with the creature who never shut up. “I’ve eaten people,” Lambert said one night by the fire and he smirked that that actually shut the man up for two days. Weeny. But Lambert also kept him alive when the man didn’t bother to have any self preservation instincts during a griffin attack. He took a few feathers and teeth for Ciri. He and the bard arrived home before Ciri and Geralt, and he tossed the bard into Geralt’s room and went to fish and hunt a bit. He needed some peace and fucking quiet.

A couple days later he cast a line into the water as he stood on the ice and a line cast next to him. “Boys having sex together sounds as gross as boys and girls doing it.”

“Yup, sex feels great, but when you think about it is really fucking absurd. I have a box of shit for you again.”

“I got you something too,” she said. Lambert smiled as she leaned her head against his shoulder. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, poppet. You grew again.”

“Needed new shoes. I have giant feet.” Ciri caught a fish, and tossed it into the bucket. “We were looking for him again, and you were the one to find him.”

“Luck.” Lambert tossed a fish in the bucket as well. “Mine is bigger.” He laughed when she stuck out her tongue. 

“Thank you for making Dad happy.” So she called Geralt Dad now. That was good, that they were finally truly clicking together. “Dad is utterly rubbish with bombs, he built one and we almost died.”

“Fucking idiot.”

“He is,” Ciri agreed. “And he wouldn’t let me blow anything up.”

“Well that is good, with the trash he makes. Luckily, I don’t make trash.” Lambert grabbed a bomb from his bag. “Go nuts.” He whooped when her bomb made it a good distance. “Well done, been working out your shoulders like I told you to.”

“Of course I have.” 

“Smart girl.” They stood on the ice and caught a few more fish and it was a good dinner except for the damn moon eyes the bard and Geralt made at each other. He and Ciri met at midnight in the pantry, and he gave her the stuff he had collected for her, and he laughed loudly at the insanely obscene statue she gave him. 

“Found it at a pirate den. I knew you’d find it hilarious. They actually move.” He wiggled the statue, and yeah it did move. “Geralt would have been appalled, had to smuggle it under my bleeding pads.”

“It is stupid and I love it.” Lambert declared. “You get to kill anything?”

“I did! I killed my first drowner. Geralt had already cut off a leg but I finished it off,” she proclaimed proudly. 

Lambert gave her a hug for that. “Nice. You keep a trophy? Always should have a trophy of your first kill.”

“I dried out a finger. I actually have it for you. If you want?” Ciri fished out a preserved drowner finger and held it out.

“Thanks, poppet,” he said. “Best finger I’ve ever been given. And trust me, people give me the finger a lot.” They both laughed and drank their milk and honey.

*

“I don’t understand,” Lambert was standing outside her door. “We can’t get sick, so we should be in there.”

“It is scarlet fever,” Geralt said. “You know that is one of the few things that we aren’t immune to. Might not hit us, but we could carry it. And Jaskier -”

“Like I give a flying fuck about your bard, when your daughter is in there sick!” Lambert roared at him. “She could die alone.”

“I went in,” Geralt said as pushed Lambert into the wall. “I begged to stay with her. And she kicked me out, because of Jaskier, because she won’t risk anyone else at the keep. Because she has the biggest heart there ever was, and and -” Geralt’s forehead pressed into him. “And if she dies, I won’t having her going to the afterlife thinking I didn’t give a fuck about her wishes. That I didn’t respect her.”

Lambert hugged Geralt - a very rare thing for him to do. “Fine, I get that. But also fuck that. My girl isn’t going to be alone.” Lambert pushed Geralt off and went into Ciri’s room. Fuck, it smelled gross. Sweat and sickness and other things. And he didn’t give a damn. He crawled onto the bed and pulled her into his arms. She was burning up.

“No no no, you could get sick,” she slurred. Her eyes were so blurry and for the first time in decades, Lambert thought about crying. “I’m fine, no you getting sick.”

“I’ll be fine, like some bullshit disease is going to come for all this.” Lambert held her close, rocked her. “Poppet, I’m not going anywhere. You didn’t want your dad, and he is the sort of idiot that listens to you. Me, like I give a shit about listening.” She had sweat through her clothes and bed linens, so he stripped her down and carried her as he changed the sheets. He lay her down and cleaned her off with the pitcher of water beside her bed. He put her in a simple shift and pulled her back into his lap. “So, this sucks.”

She tried to laugh and it just started a cough that eventually spewed bile over his shirt, and he just took it off threw it to the side. “You are going to be fine.”

“You are the only one who never lied to me about that before.”

“And I’m not lying now. I never told you it was fine because it wasn’t. But now, this? This will be fine.” Lambert kissed her forehead, and he bit back the tears. “Never did that bullshit, not starting now. You are going to be fine.” 

Lambert spent the next three days in the room with Ciri, telling her stories, reading to her, taking care of her needs no matter what they were. He washed her, fed her what she would keep down. And he prayed. That was weird, but for her he did it. 

And he ignored most of her ramblings because it was the fever talking, nightmares, visions, fuck if he knew. And when she spoke of how much she loved him and her plans for when she was eighteen, he ignored that too as fever delirium. It was bad, he knew it was bad. He could smell the sickness more like death. 

She looked up at him, “Promise me,” she whispered.

“Anything poppet.”

“Promise me, that you won’t eat me.” She grinned at him.

“You little -” He laughed and it was cut painfully short when she passed out. “Poppet?” She didn’t answer. And fuck it. “I will be right back. You stay alive. You have to give me a few more minutes, just a few more. That is an order.” Lambert dashed out of her room and into his. He went through his potions and found what he was looking for. He hurried to the kitchen and grabbed some milk, honey, and mead. He didn’t care that he flat out slammed into Vesemir as he ran. He was terrified as he stumbled into her room, but he could hear her breath. Thin, so thin but there. 

He took the potion and poured the most careful three drops into the mug on her night table and then added milk, honey, and a bit of mead. He swirled it all thoroughly and held it to her lips but she wasn’t drinking, too exhausted and sick. They were wolves, not birds but he could adapt. He took a sip of the mixture and pried her mouth open. He pushed the liquid into her mouth and massaged her throat. He did this again and again until it was all swallowed down. 

Even three drops of the golden oriole could be enough to kill her, but she was burning up and dead if something didn’t change, and it negated incineration so he thought it a better bet than a healing potion. Because those didn’t water down, this could. It was a risk, but it was time for a stupid risk. Lambert leaned against her headboard and sat her up between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her tightly, and when the convulsions started, he held her safe, soothed her as best he could, so that she didn’t flail so much that she separated a joint. 

Four hours later, he was drenched in sweat as her fever broke, and the smell of death disappeared. “Oh Melitele, oh gods,” he shouted, and the door burst open, Geralt pale as if he was facing toxicity. “Her fever broke,” Lambert said. “Fuck it broke.” He wasn’t crying, it was just her sweat. “Fuck, I smell rank.”

“I have her,” Geralt promised, not trying to hide his tears. He picked her up so gently from Lambert. “I have her. You go, bathe, rest.” Lambert nodded and started to stumble from the room. “I owe you an enormous debt, brother.”

Lambert rolled his eyes, “Oh fuck off, don’t get all sappy and shit.” It would have sounded much more effective if he then didn’t drop to the floor, passing out from exhaustion.

*

“Poppet, I’m breaking you out,” Lambert said as he knocked on her door. 

He smiled as it was flung open. She was still pale, and too skinny, but there was also desperation in her eyes. “Thank fuck, how doesn’t Geralt hear us though?” She winced as she heard the moans from Geralt’s room.

“I sex drugged your father to break you out,” Lambert was damn proud of himself. “Roof or pantry raid?”

“I haven’t been outside in weeks, _in case you relapse dear heart I cannot live without you_ ,” she imitated Geralt’s voice.

“Ugh,” Lambert rolled his eyes. But he also collected her cloak and some furs, and carried her up. Because yeah, she was still weak. He put the furs down and then sat her in his lap, and he adjusted the cloak around her, and they stared at the mountains and the night sky. “Freedom, poppet. Breathe it in.” He enjoyed listening to her breathe, that terrifying rattle gone from her chest.

He rubbed a hand up and down her back, and they just felt the world around them.

“I told you that I loved you, I remember that.”

“You also said that there was a bunny in the corner plotting my murder with a toad,” Lambert said. “Also a couple terrifying almost prophecy like things, that we are totally going to ignore.” He had written down each one and entrusted them to Vesemir. Not that he would forget a single word of them. “Also, that you don’t know how to swim, which we are fixing once the lake isn’t frozen over.”

“I do, though. Love you.”

“Sure, I love you too,” he replied easily. “You’re my poppet.” She then turned and was looking at him, and she had this look in her eyes and for a moment Lambert could see the magnificent woman she was going to turn into. 

“No, I love you, forever and forever love you,” she said and pressed a clumsy kiss to his lips.

Well shit, was all he thought and then he realized a goddamn child was kissing him and he gently eased her away. “Cirilla.”

“Told you I’d gouge your eyes out for that.” Her lip trembled a bit. “I know we have to wait until I am eighteen, but -”

“Poppet, hush,” Lambert pressed a finger to her lips. “Why the fuck would you fall in love with me? I’m an asshole.”

“I know, you are the worst,” she agreed, and he had to laugh, “and you have always treated me like a person. You see me. You see me the way no one else ever has. I’m not a princess or a destiny, or anything but your poppet.”

Fuck, how shitty had her life been that he had been like a fucking beacon of light and shit for her? Fucking hell. And now he understood why a couple years ago Vesemir told him to be kind. Fuck. Shit bugger and shit. He had to not ruin this, like he had ruined so much in his life. Nothing before or after would ever matter as much as this moment would.

“Witchers are apolitical. Completely neutral which is often complete horse shit that we like to say. But it lets us tell Kings and Emperors and anyone else to just fuck right off. We bend our knee to no one, because humans are so fucking tiny to us.” Lambert cupped her face and looked her dead in the eye. “Princess Cirilla, my poppet, I solemnly swear my eternal fealty to you, and to no one else. I bow to no one, but I bow to you. I am your knight, until the day I die. Every step I take on the path, is in honour of you. It is crazy that you are my best friend, because you are a goddamn baby and I am a bastard, but you are. Poppet, you are -” he paused because he couldn’t quite grasp the right word. “I am eternally and humbly yours. And I will happily lay my life down for you.” She was crying, he had fucked it up. He had ruined the best thing in his life.

“That is the nicest fuck off anyone has ever said,” she sobbed. And he held her close when she threw her arms around him. “If I don’t say it again, until I’m eighteen, would you, could you?”

“Oh poppet,” he sighed, “You deserve so much better than me.”

“Of course I do, you would eat me in a pinch.” 

Lambert goosed her side. “Oh look, a pinch and see I’m not eating you.” He wiped away her tears. “Romance is messy love, and cruel. Look at Geralt and his idiot bard and how much they fucked up. You and me, we got so much more than that, and nothing can ever shake it. Do you understand?” She slowly nodded and he realized that the look she had given him over the years had been hearts in her eyes. He knew they’d fade over time. “Here though, because you are the best and your first fuck will be rubbish because they always are, not going to let your first kiss be complete crap.” Lambert tilted her head up and chastely pressed his lips to hers. Brief, almost nothing, and absolutely everything. “So, enough of this feeling crap, wanna go blow up the lake?”

“Yes please,” she begged and they crept through the keep and managed to throw three bombs before Geralt came running and scooped her up. Lambert rolled his eyes at all the yelling at him, until Jaskier pointed out that Ciri should be inside and Geralt ran in with her. 

Jaskier was giving him an odd look. “Everything is…fine?”

Lambert grabbed the bomb bag. “Course it is, why?”

“I just…she is fragile, and young, and -”

“Oh my fucking gods, how are you all such fucking idiots about how strong she is?” Lambert huffed. “Swear to every devil out there, you lot are in for it when you realize how much you’ve underestimated her. And I will laugh in your face.” Lambert headed back to his room, and lay on his bed and stared at the shelf with all the things she had given him over the years and smiled at them. 

Fuck, one day she was going to fall proper in love.

He was going to kill them.

*

“Stay alive for me,” she said as she did every spring.

Lambert looked at the swords on her back. “I will. You stay alive for me, as well, poppet.” Fuck, she was actually going out there on her own. “Here bombs. A lot of them.”

“I love you too,” she kissed his cheek. “See you in a few months.”

Lambert left first because he always did, and he collected things for Ciri as he always did. He ended up in Skellige which was bullshit because he hated it there, it was cold and everyone was all pride, honour, history, and knew fuck all about what any of that meant. And they had the chance to have a perfectly good queen, but no they went with the idiot son.

He looked at Cerys. “How do you feel about the mainland?”

“It is full of bastards, and thieves, and I loathe everyone on it.”

Yeah, that was fair. “How do you feel about women?”

“What the fuck?”

“Right, you any good with that axe on your back?”

“Good enough to cut your cock off and then stuff it down your throat.”

Yup, there they go. “And one last question, how do you feel about blowing shit up?” There was a gleam in her eyes. “Excellent, I’m kidnapping you for my best friend. You are perfect for her.”

“I’m sorry, you aren’t doing shit to me.”

“Yeah, no, you are perfect and I always bring her back stuff, so I am bringing her back you. Grab a bag, I’m taking you to your destiny.”

“Why would I?” Cerys asked.

“Because why the fuck would you want to stay with these idiots who don’t see you should be in charge?”

“I don’t like you.”

“You’ll get used to me.” Lambert helped her gather some things and fuck she was great to fight next with, and they argued so much and it was great. 

He knew he was right when she gasped at the sight of Kaer Morhen. “It’s a piece of shite.”

“It is, but you know it is home.” He dragged her inside and saw Ciri’s horse. He took Cerys up to Ciri’s room. “Poppet? Got your gifts!” He grinned at Cerys and the grin widened as Ciri opened the door barely dressed. “You know it is a good thing the tits never did come in too much, you’d look lopsided if you had cut one off, especially since you don’t shoot your bow that much. Here is your gift, it is a Cerys.”

“You brought me a woman?”

“Yeah, she’s a raging death bitch, who shoulda been queen. Like you! Lots in common, perfect for each other. Have fun, see you at the midnight pantry raid.” Lambert went off whistling, proud as fuck of himself. When he walked by Ciri’s room that night and almost knocked, but he could hear them talking. He shouldn’t interrupt that. He was already in motion, though and there was a habit in place. So he went down to the kitchens and made the drink, sat on the table and dunked biscuits into it.

He heard running and smiled slowly. He poured out another mug. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you get me, and mine better have decent mead in it.”

“Well, could hear you talking, and what if you were you know…talking?” He wiggled his brows and caught the biscuit she threw at him. She had those heart eyes he remembered from years ago. “And you need to get to know her.”

“I told her, that we had a ritual, she is from Skellige she understands that sort of shit.” Ciri drank half her mug. “Fuck, Lambert, she is so gorgeous.” 

Ciri looked all swoony. It was good. “She’s fine, I suppose. Can throw an axe like you wouldn’t believe. That’s what matters.” He raised his glass to her. “Knew she’d be perfect for you. I mean look what happens when you are left to your own devices. You have the worst taste.”

Ciri leaned over and kissed his cheek. “No, I have great taste.”

He licked her cheek. “Nope, stand by humans not an interesting texture.” They both laughed, and just like every winter sat on the table and told each other of what had happened along the path. 

Romance and love and all that shit was fine, he supposed, and he wanted it for Ciri, because she secretly was into that stuff.

And he wanted her to have everything she deserved. “Poppet?”

“Hmm?” she knocked back the rest of her drink.

“Wanna go blow shit up?”

“You fucking better believe it,” she agreed. They cleaned up the kitchen, and she hopped on his back, and they grabbed the bombs. 

The next year, Ciri brought home Aiden and Lambert got all flustered and stupid and shit, fine maybe there was something to all that heart eyes bullshit. And they were lucky, because both Cerys and Aiden always understood that Ciri and Lambert’s friendship always came first.

Because they saw each other in a way no one else could see them.

A knight and his queen.

Two witchers.

Two lost souls, bound by the inexorable fact that blowing shit up is the best thing there is. Next to each other.


End file.
